Your boy had his first fantasy football draft of the season tonight, and it went just as expected.
I thought about the draft all day and an hour before the draft began, I got absorbed into watching old school WWE matches on YouTube.
Eventually I got a text message from the commissioner of the league telling me to get my ass in the live draft. I assumed it was a live karaoke draft like the ESPN commercial. I am not happy.
I get in the live draft, talk some trash about the New York Giants and the respective others of my opponents and the draft eventually begins. I have the fourth pick.
I plan on taking wide receiver Andre Johnson until I see the three team owners ahead of me all draft running backs. I feel threatened. I assume that the three team owners all know something I don't. I conform to society and draft Jamaal Charles, running back for the Chiefs.
Seeing lots of quarterbacks still available in the second round, I decide that a good enough option will still be around in the third round and I decide to draft a wide receiver.
Vincent Jackson..Vincent Jackson? Why? Beats the hell out of me. Ask Yahoo's O-rank.
In the third round, by some miracle of God, Tom Brady is still on the board. There's two picks before mine and some schmuck scooped him up. I swear loudly and frequently. I gave no one permission to take Tom Brady. Some people are so rude.
One owner drafts Randy Moss and defends it directly after by saying that he predicts Moss will return from retirement in the earlier part of the season.
I try and hit a home run of a joke by saying to no one in particular that someone should inform the league owner that it was 2011, not 1996. Someone responds by saying Moss wasn't even in the NFL in 1996. I have no defense.
Eventually, all my starting positions are filled. Now the draft is dragged out to the point where you select players who will probably never see a single week on your starting roster. I consider logging out of the draft, but I figure I have nothing better to do.
It's the 16th round and I recognize none of the names. I start selecting players based on how much I like their names and nothing else. His last name is Cribbs? Awesome.
It's the 19th and final round. My eyes are getting tired from the glare of the computer screen. The draft is sorely cutting into my Facebook creeping time.
I draft Joe McKnight because I remember hearing a song by Joe McKnight. I later realize that the song was by Brian McKnight. I am livid that I wasted my final pick on a poser Brian McKnight.
The draft's over. I look at my team. Everything looks okay. The most exciting part of fantasy football is over. Now literally everything is out of my control, and I just hope that somehow my team gathers enough points to rip ten dollars out of all of my opponents' hands at the end of the season.
Can't wait until next year's draft!